


Time After Time

by Sholio



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: Stevie and David get married on a whim during a time loop. It would really be a shame if the loop ended at that point, wouldn't it?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Comments: 29
Kudos: 136
Collections: Happy Belated Treatmas 2019





	Time After Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radchaai (rigormorphis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rigormorphis/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [radchaai (rigormorphis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rigormorphis/pseuds/radchaai) in the [happy_belated_treatmas_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/happy_belated_treatmas_2019) collection. 



> This is for your requests in Just Married Exchange, in particular the prompts "People Stuck in Time Loop Get Married and then Time Loop Ends Unexpectedly" and "Trying to Keep Accidental Marriage Secret," both of which are delightful.
> 
> Takes place before season five, i.e. David and Patrick are not engaged yet. For purposes of this fic, I'm using a vague amalgamation of various US/Canadian marriage and divorce laws, and totally handwaving certain aspects because it's funnier that way.

"You know what absolutely makes no sense to me," Stevie said on their seventh or eighth go-around through Monday, May 15, "is that _you're_ the one of the two of us who figured out what was happening to us first."

" _That's_ the part that makes no sense to you?" David was sitting crosslegged on Alexis's bed, painting his nails. He knew she was going to be at Café Tropical until precisely 3:02 p.m., so he had -- he checked the clock -- two hours and twelve minutes to try every color of nail polish in her collection. And that was a _lot_ of nail polish.

"Yes," Stevie said flatly, raising her head from her facedown position on David's bed.

"Look, this stupid little motel only gets two channels --"

"That's because this stupid little town only _has_ two channels," Stevie said. "Well, we had three, but we lost the NBC affiliate in the great molasses-truck rollover of '06."

".... not gonna ask, but anyway, I have now seen a _lot_ of old _Star Trek_ reruns. Also, if we're ever kidnapped by drug dealers and they threaten to cut off body parts unless we can answer a series of trivia questions about 1980s sitcoms, I'm the first phone call you need to make."

Stevie rolled over on her side and propped her head on David's pillow. "Has that actually happened to you?"

David rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

"Thank God, for a minute there I actually --"

"Alexis, now, on the other hand ..."

* * *

For some reason Stevie became weirdly obsessed with trying to figure out how many times they'd been around the loop.

"We could draw a mark on the wall every time --"

"Which will reset when we wake up in the morning," David said. "Because _duh._ Oh my God, what did I just step in?"

"Shit," Stevie muttered. 

"Yes, I think it is. _Eewwwww."_

"You know, cow tipping isn't nearly as much fun as it seemed like when I was fifteen and high on my cousin's weed stash."

"I am never letting you talk me into anything ever again," David snapped as they headed for the fence.

"Until tomorrow, you mean. Because you're as bored as I am."

"Oh God," David moaned, letting her help him over the fence. "You're right. I'm trapped in a time loop in the least interesting place on the entire _planet._ This is more boring than one of Mick Jagger's New Year's Eve parties, and I didn't think that was possible."

"I would have thought Jagger would throw amazing parties. Or at least the kind of parties where you wake up three days later dressed in someone else's clothes and handcuffed to the bannister."

"Maybe in the '60s, but you're forgetting he's a hundred and ninety, and so is everyone he knows. Imagine a bunch of heavily medicated eighty-year-olds trying to rock out to songs so old they could apply for their very own AARP membership."

"Oh."

"The only good thing about boring parties most of the time is being able to score an embarrassing drunken hookup that you'll both pretend you were too drunk to remember the next morning, but I'm not into daddy kink -- okay, sometimes I am, but not with people who keep dropping their teeth down the kitchen sink after getting tanked on a cocktail of Valium, heart medication, and cocaine."

"I regret asking. Oh wait, I didn't even ask." Stevie picked a burr off her jeans. "Anyway, you're not helping with my basic problem, which is figuring out how many Mondays we've now lived through. I mean, I've heard of Mondays sucking, and they do, but this one sucks more than most."

"I think I'm going to burn these shoes. I know it won't matter, they'll just be back tomorrow, but it's the only way I'm ever going to feel clean."

"Maybe I could write it on my arm."

"I might also have to cut off my feet."

"No, wait. Time loop. Shit. I can ... type it into the motel computer's spreadsheet program ... no, that wouldn't work either. Shit."

"Stevie, if I set myself on fire for a ceremonial cleansing, will you help me?"

"At the rate we're going, I'll set you on fire just for the hell of it."

* * *

"Did it ever occur to you there might be a reason why this is happening?" David asked on loop #20 or so (according to Stevie, who was still trying to keep track for some reason). "I mean, a purpose."

"No."

"Look, it's not just random. What if there's something we have to do, like -- like, okay, hypothetically speaking, let's say some innocent person broke the 18th century French vase that your father gave your mother for a twentieth anniversary present, because someone's _sister_ was running away with the facial scrub that's the only thing that really gets rid of the sort of persistent acne that you only get right before class photos, and someone who was distracted might have tripped over the rug in the hallway and fallen into the brass pedestal table that was really _far_ too unstable to support something that delicate --"

"That's weirdly specific, and also a fascinating window into your mind."

"-- anyway, if we were looping _that_ day, I'd know exactly what I needed to --"

"David!" The bathroom door opened and Alexis leaned out, wrapped in a bathrobe. "Did you --"

"No, I didn't take your hair dryer; it's under your pillow, for some reason, just like the last 200 times you asked me that."

"You are _so weird,"_ Alexis said. She lifted the pillow, retrieved the hair dryer, and vanished into the bathroom.

"Next loop I'm hiding it. Anyway, where were we?"

"You were telling me about breaking your mom's ridiculous vase. And it doesn't matter, because we're not reliving that day, are we?"

"No, okay, so not that exactly, but what if it's something _like_ that? We're being given opportunities over and over again to change something or fix something, except we're not doing it because we're going cow tipping or getting stoned or putting glue in Alexis's shampoo bottle or trying on all my mother's wigs? What if we're here for something really _serious?"_

"Are you getting this from some TV show again?"

"No," David said evasively.

During all of this, water had been running in the bathroom; now there was a sudden shriek of, "Oh my _God,_ David!"

"Did you do the shampoo thing again?"

"No," David said, "I filled up her facial cleanser bottles with toothpaste. I think we should run now."

* * *

Now that he'd thought of it, he couldn't unthink it. What if there _was_ something vitally important he was supposed to be doing, but wasn't? What if this entire looping thing was karmic punishment for something? What if every time he'd used a loop to mess with Alexis, which was most of them, he'd condemned them to another few hundred loops?

"It's not necessarily about _you,_ you know," Stevie remarked. "It could be something to do with me."

"Shut up! Logic doesn't help when I'm in an anxiety spiral!"

He tried using a couple of loops to show up first thing in the morning at the store, being as helpful and friendly as possible, which only led to Patrick asking him if he was sick and then concluding that he _was_ sick and sending him home. (Those loops got him fussed over by a worried Patrick. Bonus!)

"Have you noticed that you've generally been avoiding Patrick on these loops?" Stevie asked the next (same) morning.

"What? No I haven't!"

"Yes. You have."

"I've been taking time off work because there's no reason not to play hooky when your business-partner-slash-boyfriend isn't even going to remember it."

"In other words, you've been avoiding Patrick."

"Oh God, I _have_ been avoiding Patrick, haven't I?"

* * *

There were a number of reasons why he might be taking advantage of a time loop to subconsciously avoid his boyfriend, all of which David stressed over during the next 15 loops or so. The thing was, until Stevie pointed it out, he hadn’t even realized it. And he should have! There were _so_ many things you could do in a time loop when you had a ready and willing sex partner. They could have been trying out every single thing on the BoyZshop website! Even the really alarming dildos!

... Well, okay, no they couldn’t, because nothing could possibly be delivered to _this_ town in less than 24 hours, no matter how much of a rush he put on it. But still! He was suddenly in a situation where money was no object. He could have been taking Patrick over to an actual, decent hotel in Elmdale on every single loop using his dad's credit card, instead of cow tipping with Stevie.

"What is wrong with me?"

"I ask myself that every day," Stevie said from Alexis's bed next to him.

"Are you ... painting your toenails."

"Like you've never seen a girl paint her toenails before," Stevie muttered, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she labored over the paint job.

"I didn't even know you had toes. I've never seen evidence of it before."

"How does anyone get these edges straight?" Stevie asked, exasperated. "I suddenly have a marginal amount of respect for you. ... oh, shit. _That's_ not coming out of that pillowcase." There was a small gigglesnort. "Good thing it doesn't matter."

"Can we get back to talking about my problems again?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that anything could stop you. Carry on."

* * *

"Do you think the problem is that I'm afraid of what living endless time loops with Patrick will reveal about our relationship, or about me? Or maybe about him."

"You know how we were getting bored in these loops before?" Stevie said, halfway through a bottle of red wine. It was not quite noon and they were at their usual booth in the Café Tropical, getting drunk because it wasn't like hangovers were a big problem right now. "It is nothing, _nothing_ compared to spending every loop listening to you analyze your relationship with Patrick."

Twyla stopped by their table and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, you're really not supposed to bring outside food and drink into the café. And also we don't have a --"

"Please go away," Stevie said. "Right now."

"-- liquor license. Okay."

"I think it all goes back to my relationship with my mother," David said.

"Why is this happening to me." Stevie drew a deep breath, slammed down her half-empty wine bottle, and got up. "You know what? It's time for you and Patrick to talk."

"What? No! Let go -- ow -- you're stretching out my sweater! Stevie!"

She marched him down the street to Rose Apothecary. Patrick looked around when they came in, and it was really unfair that every part of David prickled all over -- in a good way -- when Patrick turned to look at him.

"Oh, there you are," Patrick said. "You know, this is a two-person business." But he was smiling: a little exasperated, and a lot fond.

"Patrick," Stevie said, "we're in a time loop, we've already lived this day probably 200 times, and David needs to talk to you. Goodbye."

"Hey -- what -- _Stevie!"_ But she had fled. "Traitor!"

"A time loop," Patrick said, the exasperated-and-fond expression sliding over into another perennial look, amused-but-fond.

"Yes. You know what?" David said, seizing hold of the moment since he didn't seem to have a choice. "Let's take the day off. Go over to Elmdale. Rent a hotel room that has complimentary facial masks instead of complimentary plumbing leaks."

Patrick let out a small sigh. "Love to, but we have a business to run here, you know."

"One day won't kill us." David looped his arms around Patrick's neck.

Patrick grinned, and grinned wider when David nibbled at the corner of his mouth. "You're making a very persuasive argument."

* * *

As he was drifting off at the Elmdale Arms, with Patrick sprawled in the bed beside him, David's eyes snapped open.

"Oh ... oh _no._ Stevie will never let me hear the end of this."

"David." Patrick rolled over and slung an arm across his chest. "Please stop talking about Stevie and go to sleep."

"Yes, but I need to tell her ..." Screw it. "Never mind," David said, and curled into Patrick and hung on tight.

* * *

"Stevie!"

"Usually I'm up before you," Stevie grumbled, pulling her pillow over her head. "Now I'm starting to appreciate how annoying you must find _me_. For the record, I'm spending this loop in bed."

"But I figured it out." He plunked down onto the side of the bed next to her legs. "You know what I'm afraid of? You know why I'm avoiding Patrick? It's because I could do anything, Stevie, and there are no consequences. I could break up with him. I could marry him."

"Mmmmm."

"I could _marry_ him, Stevie."

It came out impossibly plaintive. Slowly the pillow withdrew from her face, and the top half of her face peeked out.

"Do you want to?" she said, slightly muffled.

"Yes? No? Maybe? I just woke up! Stop asking me hard questions!"

"You're in my house," Stevie said through the pillow.

"It's too much pressure! How am I supposed to deal with this? What if this whole time loop ... thing is supposed to make me learn how to manage my anxiety? I cannot deal with this kind of pressure, Stevie!"

"It's not always about you, David."

"Help," David said plaintively, and she slowly and reluctantly took the pillow away from her face.

"We're going to make pancakes," she said definitively. "Soothing pancakes. Stress pancakes. Since you're in my place anyway."

"I don't know how to make pancakes. Do you know how?"

"No, but we have plenty of time to figure it out."

* * *

"Okay, look," Stevie said through a mouthful of maple syrup on Pancake Loop No. 2, the one in which they did not accidentally set fire to her apartment. "If you're that worried about it, we can practice."

"Practice."

"Yes. Practice getting married. I mean, it doesn't matter, right? We can drive over to the courthouse in Loganville, get hitched in a practice ceremony, and do it as many times as we want until you stop having a fit about it."

"I, uh." David thought about it. "That's ... really sweet, actually."

"Please don't tell anyone."

* * *

The next morning of the inevitable May 15, they went for a drive. David was already fidgeting within a few miles of the town line.

"Calm down. You're getting platonic fake married, not married for real. If you have a panic attack or decide to hide under a table, nobody's going to remember it the next day."

"Not helping!"

* * *

Morning of May 15. Again.

"David," Stevie said, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Get out of there. It's perfectly normal to get cold feet about a fake marriage to your platonic best friend and run off and hide in a cardboard box under a railroad bridge."

"No it's not," David said, muffled.

"... no, it's not, but it's not that surprising. Come on out, I can't deal with this."

She started trying to drag the blankets off him, with David stubbornly hanging on, when the bathroom door opened and Alex leaned out in a cloud of steam. "David! Did you --"

"Your hairdryer is under your pillow!" Stevie didn't exactly shout, but it was probably the closest to shouting that she was capable of. "And we're having a crisis here!"

"Fine, _be_ that way." The bathroom door closed again.

"Are you going to spend the entire day in bed, David?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

* * *

May 15 again.

"David -- come on, David -- don't make me call Patrick and tell him --"

"Tell him what?" David snapped, wrapping himself in his bedcovers like a blanket burrito. "Tell him about the time loop again? He never believes it anyway, he just gives me one of _those looks_ , and I don't think adding that you plan to marry me is going to help --"

"David! Did you take my --"

"Under your pillow!" David and Stevie both yelled as Alexis popped out of the bathroom.

"You two are _so weird!"_

* * *

It took a couple more rounds of May 15, including one that David spent entirely with Patrick, for him to finally give in and let Stevie drag him to the altar.

Because ... damn it, he _didn't_ want to be a basket case about this for the rest of his life. He wanted to be able to stare commitment in the face without having a panic attack. He wanted to be able to imagine a life with Patrick and not think of 500 things that could go wrong. Most importantly, if Patrick did ask him That Question, he wanted to be able to answer without instantly flinging himself out a window, changing his name and moving to Las Vegas to avoid the inevitable disappointment that would result from saying yes.

... okay, maybe he didn't have issues, he had entire libraries.

The funny thing was, after all of that, once they actually got to the courthouse, it wasn't that bad. David had worn his most tasteful leather sweater and leggings, because it wasn't like he needed to dress up to fake-marry Stevie, but at the very least he could not look like a _homeless person._ They filled out all the paperwork and managed to get a slot in front of a judge that afternoon, with a couple of random bystanders for witnesses.

And David entirely choked. He _knew_ he was going to. If only there was a convenient railroad bridge handy.

"David," Stevie whispered. "Snap out of it. Just say the vows."

"Do I take -- no -- okay, no, this isn't going to work. I'm too self-conscious."

"You can call me Patrick if it helps," Stevie suggested.

"I'm starting to get the feeling you two might want to reconsider this," the judge said. Both of them ignored her.

David took her hands and gazed into her eyes. "Patrick," he began, and then Stevie choked on a grin and he grinned too and they both had a small giggle fit.

"Sorry," she said. "Sorry," and took his hands again. "David, do you take me as your lawful wedded husband?"

The judge opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, and then shut it.

"I -- I." David took a deep breath. "Patrick, I ... no, I can't do this. I'm going to need notes. So many notes."

"No you don't!" Stevie gave his hands a sharp shake. "Look, all you need to do to get through this is remind yourself how much you love Patrick, and just pretend I'm him."

"-- I _really_ think you two might want to reconsider this --"

"Just tell him what you're feeling, David." Her eyes were steady on his, like her hands on his, steady and true. "As much stupid shit as our culture wraps around marriage, what it really just comes down to is that you want to be with this person forever. And please forget I said any of this tomorrow, since you're the only one who'll remember it anyway."

He was grinning now, despite his panic. Stevie could always make him grin like that. "Patrick," he said. "You're the most important person in the world to me. I never thought anyone _could_ be to me, what you are -- no, that sounds stupid. That's ridiculous. I never thought anyone could see the things in me that you see in me. You make me want to be a better person. That's more like it, right? And you make me feel like I _am_ a better person. Better than I ever thought I could be." It was surprisingly easy to get caught up in it. To _feel_ it. "You're my everything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Yes, I do. I do, forever."

Stevie threw her arms around his neck, catching him in a quick hug that she just as quickly released. "Knew you could do it," she whispered.

"Just to be clear," the judge said, "you take this individual, Stevie Budd, to be your lawfully wedded spouse, correct?"

"Yes," David said impatiently. "Yes, of course. I do. Take her. This woman, right here."

"I ... now pronounce you married. You may kiss the bride."

"Yay," Stevie said, and they jockeyed for position before she planted a kiss on his cheek.

They locked the doors of the motel office when they got back, even though it was only early afternoon, and had a couple of celebratory bottles of wine. There was no reason not to. David was riding high, on top of the world. This could work. He could actually make this work, this thing with Patrick.

* * *

In the morning, the first thing David became aware of was that his head hurt. Groaning, he rolled over and cracked open his eyes with the inevitable expectation of the sight that would greet him, the sight that had been greeting him for the last however-many-hundred mornings. Alexis was going to be asleep on her stomach, wearing the night mask that he kept telling her made her look like the Gimp (it didn't, but it made her throw things at him in a satisfying way), and then Mom was going to barge into the room in a couple of minutes and --

Alexis's bed was empty. The covers were pulled back, rucked up, and littered in a variety of makeup items and feminine undergarments -- i.e. a typical view of Alexis's bed in the morning.

Except this one was supposed to have Alexis in it.

 _Drug dealers got her,_ David thought, still half asleep, and then he woke up with a jolt as if ice-cold coffee had been poured down his spine.

_This wasn't the same morning._

He sat bolt upright just as Stevie slammed through the door, banging it off the wall.

"Ow, Stevie. Ow, ow, ow." His head was splitting. It was like he'd really gotten drunk last night. 

"David!" She bounced on her toes. "It's Tuesday! We're free!"

"We're married!"

"Oh." Her bouncing slowed and stopped. "Oh. _Oh."_

* * *

They talked about it in urgent whispers over brunch at Café Tropical, or what passed for brunch, which was basically the results of Twyla combining items off the breakfast and lunch menus.

"We can just drive over to Loganville for a shotgun divorce, right? That's a thing, right?"

"Uh ... I have bad news for you," Stevie said, scrolling down her phone. "There's a waiting period."

"A waiting period for what?" His whisper dropped to a slightly less penetrating level as Twyla wandered by their table carrying a single plate. It was the third time she'd been by in the last three minutes.

"Get you two anything?"

"No," Stevie said brightly. "No, we're good."

"More ketchup or syrup for your pancakeburger?"

"My pancakes are fine," Stevie said, with a fixed, dangerous grin. Twyla wandered off toward the kitchen, and Stevie leaned across the plate of pancakes, meat, and inappropriate lettuce that David was trying to ignore given the uncertain state of his stomach. He had no idea how Stevie could sit with _that_ in front of her after the amount they'd had to drink last night.

" _Thirty days,_ David."

"Thirty days until what? Thirty days until -- we can get _divorced?_ Wait, _what?_ That can't possibly be legal!" Wild handwaving nearly upset his cup of not-nearly-soothing-enough tea. "What if someone gets married and then wakes up in the morning and realizes they've made a terrible mistake? Hypothetically speaking!"

"Such as getting married during a time loop and then having to admit you didn't know it was going to end the next day?" Stevie asked with a perfectly straight face. "Gosh, I can't imagine why they forgot to account for that in the marriage laws."

"Okay, I admit that is a very specific set of circumstances, but look, you get exactly one marriage cherry, and --"

"Exactly one marriage _what?"_

"-- I intended to pop my marriage cherry with Patrick! I wasn't planning to be _used goods!"_

This was loud enough that they got some glances. Twyla was absently entering items into a ledger next to the cash register while leaning across the counter so far she looked like she was in danger of tumbling off. If it was possible for a human being to manifest an enormous listening ear like a Looney Tunes character, she would be doing it right now.

"Hush!" Stevie hissed. "Listen, we're also going to need grounds for divorce."

" _What."_

She turned her phone toward him. "Take your pick. Adultery or abuse? I don't think we can do abandonment, we haven't been married long enough."

"Adultery," David said promptly. "It sounds more like me. Also, it's true."

"Yeah, you're right, no one would ever believe you'd survive trying to abuse me."

_"Hey."_

"So I guess all we have to do is make sure no one in this town finds out we're married in the next month," Stevie said, and impaled a lettuce-garnished pancake on a fork. "Piece of cake, right?"

* * *

So David continued to commit cheerful adultery with Patrick, and Stevie went on doing Stevie things, and everything was fine until, five days into their time as lawfully-but-not-actually-wedded man and wife, Stevie barged into David and Patrick's store and nearly knocked over a display of organic moisturizers as she lunged past it and grabbed David's arm.

"We have to talk," she whispered fiercely at him, and in a more normal tone of voice, "Hi, Patrick."

"Hi, Stevie," Patrick said with a small wave and a smile.

Stevie dragged David into the storeroom.

"Hey," David protested, shaking her off his lapels. "This is a genuine Brioni, limited edition."

"Your father saw our marriage license. He'll be here any minute. I think he's looking for you in your room right now."

" _What,"_ David said, as his world fell into tiny little fragments around him.

"They mailed us the final marriage license!" Stevie said desperately. "I didn't know they were going to do that! I gave them the motel address on the forms, because, well, it _is_ our address, and it came to the office addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Rose and your father thought it was for him and Moira and -- David, are you still breathing?"

"No," David squeaked out. Stevie helped him sit down and fanned him with a shipping label.

"I knew we should have gone with Budd-Rose," Stevie said, sitting on a crate, and David choked on a slightly wheezing laugh.

"David Budd-Rose sounds ridiculous," he managed at last. "It sounds like a character on an educational public-access children's cartoon."

"What are you and Patrick going to do?"

"Nothing," David wheezed, "because he's going to throw me out on my _ear_ when he finds out he's been sleeping with a married man for the last week!"

"Oh, come on." Stevie took hold of his arm. "David. Patrick loves you. Also, he's literally the most placid human being in the world. He could give lessons in chill to half the cows in town. He's not going to react badly to this."

Outside the storeroom, there was a bang, as of a door slamming open.

"David!!"

"Your parents, on the other hand ..."

* * *

"You married Stevie Budd because ... she dared you to and you ended up in a game of marriage chicken and you couldn't get out of it."

"Yeesss?"

"Johnny," Moira said, gripping her husband's arm. "It is in character, you must admit. Let's not be too hard on the poor, _poor_ boy."

"Poor boy," Alexis said, eyes wide and one hand over her mouth. David tried to kick her under the Café Tropical table, but she pulled her feet back too quickly.

"We were drunk at the time," Stevie said helpfully. David kicked her too, or tried to. She was even faster than Alexis.

Twyla wandered past to top off their still-full water glasses. "Everything okay, Roses?"

"Fine!" they all said together. Twyla hovered another not-at-all-conspicuous moment and then wandered off.

There was a pause and then Alexis reached across the table and smacked Stevie's wrist. "I can't believe you didn't ask me to be a bridesmaid. You are both on notice. I'm a professional bridesmaid. Just ask Jennifer Aniston."

"We didn't have bridesmaids because we are _not_ married," Stevie said between her teeth.

David's dad gave him one of _those_ looks, the eye-popping ones that had once made employees of Rose Video scatter like frightened chickens. "Really? Because the government seems to think otherwise."

"It was a complete accident, we've explained this."

"No," Johnny Rose said carefully. "You've given us several different unconvincing and mutually contradictory explanations."

"Darling. Don't grill the poor boy like a medium rare steak."

"Poor boy," said Alexis, her eyes all sympathy. "Poor steak."

"I know where you sleep!" David hissed at her. "More importantly, I know where your hair dryer goes when you lose it, and I'm only telling you if you shut up _right now!"_

* * *

The family consensus was that the marriage would end in divorce and/or annulment at the earliest possible convenience (regarding annulment, favors were being called in, or so David had been told) and meanwhile, Patrick Must Never Know.

"So I hear you married Stevie Budd on a drunken dare."

"EEEEEEEK," David shrieked manfully, and a case of Myrtle Farms All-Natural Fingernail & Toenail Lotion went cascading in various directions.

Patrick laughed softly and knelt to help him pick it up.

"I feel it only fair to warn you," David said between his teeth, "that if this is all over town, I'm going to die of embarrassment. My family has a garden burial plot, technically it belongs to my mother, but I'm sure she'll permit the interment of my mortal remains and if you'll disregard the misplaced apostrophes --"

"David," Patrick said, eyes sparkling in that unfairly adorable way. He rested a hand on David's arm, curling his fingers lightly over David's forearm. "I know there's an explanation. Knowing you, I expect it's a completely ridiculous explanation that no one would ever believe is the truth."

" _Thank_ you," David said. "Yes. Yes, it is. Do you want to hear it?"

"No," Patrick said, as David was gearing up to start explaining about time loops and _Star Trek_ reruns. "No, I trust you."

The utter simplicity of that statement undid him, sent all his justifications falling down in smoke. Because there was no arguing with Patrick's level gaze, holding all of Patrick's calm belief in him.

"I want ..." David began, and faltered.

"Yeah?"

"I want to drag you into the back and rip your clothes off."

"Oh, really?" Patrick said, his eyes dancing. "Won't your wife object?"

"Get over here," David said, grabbing Patrick by the collar, and Patrick just grinned.

* * *

They got the annulment two weeks into their marriage, thanks to one of Dad's old ex-buddy lawyers turning up some useful statutes. And just their luck, they ended up in front of the same judge who had married them. The only saving grace, David thought, was that she must see so many people that she couldn't possibly remember --

"Oh, it's you two."

\-- fuck.

"False pretenses and failure to consummate? I can only say," the judge said, scribbling a quick signature across the paper, "that I'm shocked, simply shocked."

"That's a very rude stereotype," David said, crossing his arms. "I'm pansexual, thank you. I would absolutely sleep with her, in general theory of broadly applied sexual practice, nonspecifically speaking."

"Thanks," Stevie said, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Oh?" the judge said, looking at them over her glasses. " _Did_ you sleep together?"

"Only before the wedding," David said hastily. "Long before."

"And it involved the application of large doses of intoxicants," Stevie put in.

"Medium-sized doses," David said, holding up his fingers a couple of inches apart.

"... take this form to the front desk, and get it stamped. And no offense to either of you, but I hope I don't see you again."

* * *

"Feeling more confident?" Stevie asked David as they strolled out into the sunshine.

"Oh, loads. I mean, what's not a confidence-builder about a failed marriage that half the town is talking about?"

"Oh, come on. It's not that big an item of gossip. I mean, it probably would have been, but then the mayor got drunk and tried to set the Guinness world record for chainsaw juggling."

"I never thought I'd thank Roland for anything, but suddenly I'm grateful."

"Kinda hope Jocelyn wasn't too fond of that corner of the house. On the bright side," Stevie added, "she says he'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days and they were able to reattach the finger."

"Ugh. Can we move this conversation away from severed body parts?"

Stevie looked around to make sure no one was watching, and then snugged an arm around his waist. "You know, just between you and me, if I had to pop _my_ marriage cherry --"

"I knew I'd regret using those words to you, I _knew_ it --"

"-- with a two-week shotgun marriage ending in annulment, which, by the way, fits right in with most of my family's life choices, you're not the worst option in town."

"I feel both flattered and vaguely insulted."

"Excellent. Mission accomplished." She gave him a quick sideways squeeze. "Before we head back, let's get lunch somewhere that isn't Café Tropical."

"It's a date."


End file.
